


Stitches

by gluedwithgold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Hand Jobs, Hunt Gone Wrong, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 14:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16139144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gluedwithgold/pseuds/gluedwithgold
Summary: Dean patches up Sam after a hunt goes wrong.





	Stitches

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Sunday Morning Porn Club](http://smpc.livejournal.com/) on LiveJournal.
> 
> Word count is a little short this time, but there really wasn't any more to add to this little diddy. I'll catch it up next time: IOU 500 words! <3

Two hours. 

Two fucking hours hunched over, stitching up his little brother’s thigh, painstakingly closing up the ragged, gaping gash, and Dean could finally breathe. 

He took a long pull from the half-drained bottle of cheap, rot-gut whiskey Sam had been guzzling from to kill the pain, then looked down at his brother, sprawled on the bed, naked from the waist down with smears of blood still coating his legs. Dean would clean that up in a little bit, it wasn’t hurting anything. 

The goddamn  _ octovamp  _ or whatever the fuck that thing was, green like mold and covered in diamond-shaped scales, misshapen blob of a body with who knows how many arms  – didn’t matter much now, since it was at the bottom of the lake in a rotting heap – had gotten far too close to slicing Sam’s femoral artery with those flailing, razor-sharp tentacles. That scene would show up in Dean’s nightmares for a while. 

Dean took another swallow of whiskey and felt the adrenaline starting to seep out, slowly being replaced by the burning-warm tingle of the alcohol. It’d be a while yet before he’d be able to sleep, which was just as well – better to keep an eye on Sammy, make sure he was going to be alright. He’d lost a lot of blood. Dean was pretty sure he’d be fine after some rest and a good steak or two – knowing Sam, he’d insist on eating a pile of spinach, too, the freak – but keeping watch for a while wasn’t a bad idea anyway. 

He set the bottle down on the table and walked across the room to the bed. He pulled the covers up over Sam, then set to work cleaning up the mess of first aid supplies. They’d need to restock their kit after this one – he’d used up half their supply getting that wound closed. Once he finished, Dean pulled one of the chairs over between the two beds, flipped on the TV and sat with his feet up on the mattress, heels just barely resting against Sam’s calf, feeling the warmth of his brother seep through his sock. 

He was worried, so what? 

It was a valid response to watching your brother almost die from some random, easy-kill monster. Some  _ thing  _ that only required a few slices from a machete to take down had no business doing that much damage to Sam. Leave the big injuries to the big bads, thank you very much. 

A few minutes later, before Dean even had time to focus on what was on the television, Sam started shifting in his sleep, arms and legs flailing lethargically, pushing the covers aside. Dean sat up to reach over and tug them back over Sam, but he whined. 

“‘M  _ hot _ ,” Sam mumbled, eyes still closed. 

Dean let go of the blanket and put a hand to Sam’s forehead. He didn’t feel feverish. Sam sighed, contented, and nudged his head against Dean’s hand, cat-like. 

“You okay, little brother?” Dean asked. Sam was either delirious or happy-drunk. 

Sam nodded, his eyes cracking open just a sliver. 

“What’re you doing?” Sam’s speech was slurred, his eyes falling closed again.

“Just keeping an eye on you. Making sure.” 

“Come to bed, y’r too far away.” Sam’s hand flailed out, landing on Dean’s leg and tugging at his jeans. Just drunk, then. 

Dean let out a relieved sigh. 

“Sorry, Sammy. Separate beds tonight, you’ve got too many stitches in that leg.” 

The whine that pushed up from Sam’s throat reminded Dean of five-year-old Sam when he was disappointed at being told no. 

“But…” Sam let go of Dean’s leg, his hand moving to his stomach then sliding downward, his fingers slipping over the head of his cock where it rested against his hip, and Dean could see now that it was half-hard. “I want…” 

Dean’s shoulders slumped. He’d like nothing better than to lay down next to Sam, skin against skin, and feel every inch of his brother’s body just to make his still-panicked brain believe he was, in fact, one hundred percent okay. He’d be perfectly happy to cover Sam with his own body, slip his dick inside his brother just to reassure himself that he was safe. But Sam was injured and drunk and foggy from blood loss. It was a bad idea. 

“Dean, please…” Sam’s eyes were open now, wide and round with his forehead creased in that classic Sam-puppy-dog expression. Dean’s gaze flicked down and saw Sam’s hand wrapped around his now fully hard cock, slowly stroking. “I want… I need to feel you, Dean.” 

Dean’s heart sank with the realization that as much as he needed that comfort of physical closeness, Sam probably needed it even more. He might have watched his brother get sliced open, but Sam was the one who actually got sliced. Dean looked over the space of the bed, his mind running through all the possibilities, the options that would cause the least harm to Sam’s fresh injury. 

“Okay, Sammy. Okay.” Dean stood up, leaned over to press a kiss to Sam’s forehead, then made his way around the bed, shedding his clothes as he went. He crawled onto the mattress and laid down on his side, pressed up against Sam. He slipped an arm under Sam’s shoulders and pulled him to his chest. “C’mere.” 

Sam shimmied closer, tucking his head against Dean’s chest, just under his chin. Dean pressed a kiss to Sam’s temple, then let his mouth rest there, breathing in the slightly acrid, tangy scent of unwashed hair that was so familiar it was comforting instead of offensive. Sam hummed against Dean’s chest, his body relaxing. 

Dean reached down with his free hand, nudging Sam’s hand away from his cock and taking over the slow stroking. The warm skin was silky soft over the rigid, tight shaft, and the feel of it on his palm had Dean’s own dick filling quickly, pressing against Sam’s bare hip. Dean couldn’t help rolling his hips forward, dragging his cock head against his brother’s smooth, warm skin. 

Sam let out a quiet, drawn out ‘ohhh’ as Dean tightened his grip on an upstroke, squeezing out a fat drop of precome from the tip of Sam’s dick. He dragged his palm over the head, spreading the slick fluid down the shaft as he stroked downward again, making the slide easier. 

Dean rolled his own hips in time with his strokes, dragging his cock against Sam’s hip at the same tempo. Sam reached up and twined his fingers with Dean’s where his hand poked out from around Sam’s shoulders, gripping tight. Dean let his eyes slip closed, breathing in the scent of Sam, feeling his heat on his hand where he continued to stroke, pressed against his chest, his hips, his cock, his thighs, reveling in each point of contact and letting out a soft moan as all the sensations washed over him. 

Sam’s hips started undulating, just a little faster than the pace Dean had set, telling him he was ready for more. Dean obliged, picking up his own pace to match Sam’s, letting his brother fuck into his hand. The extra movement made more friction on Dean’s dick and sent a shiver of pleasure up through his body. He sucked in a shuddering breath. 

Dean could feel Sam’s balls starting to draw up and tighten when his fingers brushed them on the downstrokes, so he picked up the pace a little more, tightened his grip, gave just the slightest twist around the head the way Sam had always liked it, ever since he was a teenager. Dean knew how to please his brother just as well as he knew how to please himself. 

His own climax was building quickly, coiling in his center like a spring, taut and ready to burst out any moment. Dean pressed his cock against Sam’s hip harder, faster, matching the pace with his hand, the stuttered little moans punching out of Sam’s mouth better than any song ever written. 

It was just a few seconds more, a couple quick twists of the wrist, before Sam was shooting hot and slick over Dean’s fingers, his hips punching up into Dean’s hand, a low groan drawling out as Sam came, eyes clenched tight. That feeling, that sensation of Sam’s ecstasy, sent Dean over the edge, the spring coil letting loose as he shot across Sam’s hip, pressing his lips to his brother’s forehead again as he clenched their hands together. 

They both panted, jagged breaths as they slowed, letting the aftershocks flow through before relaxing against each other, warm, hearts thumping in time with each other. They were quiet for a few minutes, still wrapped up in each other, passing warmth back and forth. Then Dean took in a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. He pressed his head tighter against Sam’s. 

“I was scared today, Sammy. Thought I was gonna lose you.” 

Dean could hear Sam take his own deep breath. 

“I know. Scared me, too. But I’m okay. We’re both okay.” 

Dean kissed Sam one more time. 

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re okay little brother. We’re okay.” 

They both drifted off to sleep then, wrapped up in each other, just like they’d always been.


End file.
